Antony and Cleopatra
By
William Shakespeare
Act III:
Scene 13

ANTONY.If that thy father live, let him repentThou wast not made his daughter; and be thou sorryTo follow Caesar in his triumph, sinceThou hast been whipp'd for following him: henceforthThe white hand of a lady fever thee,Shake thou to look on't. — Get thee back to Caesar;Tell him thy entertainment: look thou sayHe makes me angry with him; for he seemsProud and disdainful, harping on what I am,Not what he knew I was: he makes me angry;And at this time most easy 'tis to do't,When my good stars, that were my former guides,Have empty left their orbs, and shot their firesInto the abysm of hell. If he mislikeMy speech and what is done, tell him he hasHipparchus, my enfranched bondman, whomHe may at pleasure, whip, or hang, or torture,As he shall like, to quit me: urge it thou:Hence with thy stripes, be gone.

[Exit THYREUS.]

CLEOPATRA.Have you done yet?

ANTONY.Alack, our terrene moonIs now eclips'd, and it portends aloneThe fall of Antony!

CLEOPATRA.I must stay his time.

ANTONY.To flatter Caesar, would you mingle eyesWith one that ties his points?

CLEOPATRA.Not know me yet?

ANTONY.Cold-hearted toward me?

CLEOPATRA.Ah, dear, if I be so,From my cold heart let heaven engender hail,And poison it in the source; and the first stoneDrop in my neck: as it determines, soDissolve my life! The next Caesarion smite!Till, by degrees, the memory of my womb,Together with my brave Egyptians all,By the discandying of this pelleted storm,Lie graveless, — till the flies and gnats of NileHave buried them for prey!

ANTONY.I will be treble-sinew'd, hearted, breath'd,And fight maliciously: for when mine hoursWere nice and lucky, men did ransom livesOf me for jests; but now I'll set my teeth,And send to darkness all that stop me. — Come,Let's have one other gaudy night: call to meAll my sad captains; fill our bowls; once moreLet's mock the midnight bell.

CLEOPATRA.It is my birthday.I had thought t'have held it poor; but since my lordIs Antony again I will be Cleopatra.

ANTONY.We will yet do well.

CLEOPATRA.Call all his noble captains to my lord.

ANTONY.Do so; we'll speak to them: and to-night I'll forceThe wine peep through their scars. — Come on, my queen;There's sap in't yet. The next time I do fightI'll make death love me; for I will contendEven with his pestilent scythe.

[Exeunt all but ENOBARBUS.]

ENOBARBUS.Now he'll outstare the lightning. To be furiousIs to be frighted out of fear; and in that moodThe dove will peck the estridge; and I see stillA diminution in our captain's brainRestores his heart: when valour preys on reason,It eats the sword it fights with. I will seekSome way to leave him.